


The Bottom Series: Sam

by Perfica



Series: The Bottom Series [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 3000-5000 Words, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-27
Updated: 2007-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfica/pseuds/Perfica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam clicked.  Dean's history was still there.  What he'd been looking at all afternoon, surfed for with clear intent, was there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bottom Series: Sam

For once they'd finished a job mid-afternoon instead of midnight, so Sam took the opportunity to spend some time outside in the sun: away from their dingy travel lodge, away from Dean who was already making noises about wanting to get back on the road. They'd indulged in a bit of good-natured bickering; Dean had called him a bitch - to spice things up, Sam had called him a nut sack.

The look on Dean's face was priceless.

Sam took a book, a goddamn honest-to-God paperback book and some money, and spent the rest of afternoon sitting outside a café, half reading, half watching the sleepy town wind down for the day while an even sleepier waitress kept the coffee coming.

When it got too dark to see the words on the page he stretched out hunched over shoulders and long legs that had had to twist around the base of his table, crumpled up the napkin he'd been scribbling on, dropped it in the mug and let coffee dregs obscure the ink and went back to their room.

They'd been given two sets of keys and it looked like Dean was being his usual careful self, enough so that he'd locked the door even though the danger was supposed to be gone. From this town, at least. Sam relocked the door from the inside and pulled off his jacket, emptying his pockets onto the side table next to the bed he'd claimed as his own. He could hear the splash of water from the bathroom as Dean took a shower.

His laptop was on Dean's bed, covered with the empty wrappers of chocolate bars and gas station burgers. Sam brushed them off then, with a sly grin, pushed the rubbish under Dean's pillow. He'd get a surprise when he slipped his knife there later tonight.

One hand opening a can of soda from the mini fridge, Sam leant against his pillows and popped open the lid of his computer. For at least twenty seconds he didn't understand what he was seeing. Frowning, he scrolled to the top of the browser window and yes, it was what he'd thought. Dean had been surfing porn sites again.

That was kind of normal. They'd all but busted each other on several occasions scoping for porn on their hotel room TV or online, but both of them were near fanatical when it came to clearing their histories.

Sam clicked. Dean's history was still there. What he'd been looking at all afternoon, surfed for with clear intent, was there.

Gay porn.

Gay porn sites.

Sites with pictures and videos and the testimonials of happy customers.

Sites that played on themes. Buff men oiled to a shiny sheen and wearing military uniforms. Rugged looking guys with four-day old growth wearing denim and leather. Young guys; guys the sites called twinks, posed pink-skinned and hairless, flexible in their lycra pants, pouty wet mouths falling open while similar looking guys wrapped long fingers tightly around their thighs.

Amongst all the pictures were brash, brightly-colored words in huge fonts screaming, 'Click here for a demo!' and 'See Todd suck his first cock!' and 'Subscribe now for access to our Special Members Only area!'

Sam took another gulping swallow of his drink and realised his hand was shaking. Gay porn? Dean? The two things did not go together.

He was in the middle of looking at one of the last sites Dean had surfed; one that was pleasantly bland compared to the others. It seemed that the men in these videos went to what the site creators claimed were tropical holiday retreats, but were probably someone's discreet backyard pool area, and sunbaked, splashed around, rubbed lotion on each other's backs, all the while allowing their pictures to be taken. These guys weren't as good-looking as the others; they were a little too sunburnt, a little too shy and weren't as good at mugging for the camera. The short snippets of video seemed to show guys in pairs, almost as if they were real couples. Couples that shared a beer and swam for a bit, then fucked in the Jacuzzi.

Sam heard the bang of a drawer sliding shut in the bathroom and jolted upright. He'd cleared the history files and was surfing one of the paranormal forums saved in his bookmarks by the time Dean came out, towel wrapped around his waist, hair damp and messy.

"Hey," he said, rummaging in his bag for clean clothes. "You eat?"

"Um, no."

Dean looked over his shoulder as he dropped the towel and pulled a pair of briefs on. "You plan on eating?"

"Yes?" Sam said, feeling his eyes scrunch up in confusion.

Dean shook his head and buttoned up his jeans. "Too much reading is bad for you, Sammy. I always said a college education was for schmucks."

"Hey," Sam protested.

Dean looked at the laptop still in his hands and Sam closed the lid very, very carefully.

Dean pulled on his boots and grabbed a jacket. "Pizza good for you?" he asked, already out the door.

~~~

They ate on Dean's bed, covers pushed messily onto the floor. Dean had flicked channels until he found a comedy special and spilt beer on himself while laughing. Sam picked the olives off his side of the pizza and didn't really taste what was going in his mouth.

An hour later the box was an empty, greasy monument to their hunger. Sam took a shower while Dean flicked through newspaper articles, crosschecking them against their Dad's journal. Sam came out of the bathroom wearing the same dirty jeans and a clean shirt and picked up their empties, placing them neatly on the floor next to the tiny bin that places like this always seemed to provide for their guests. From the corner of his eye he could see Dean had found something interesting. His head was propped up on one hand, elbow digging into the table as his other hand moved slowly over a page, line by line, reading intently.

The laptop was sitting on Sam's bedside table, exactly where he'd put it before.

Sam shucked his pants and his shirt, pulled up his boxers from where they'd slid down his hips and turned off the lamp.

"You going to sleep?" Dean asked from the other side of the room.

"Yeah," Sam said, rolling over to face the bathroom, back to Dean as he fumbled with his blankets.

"We'll leave in the morning. Think I might have found something in Arizona."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"'Night."

Sam closed his eyes and listened to Dean turn pages.

~~~

He must have fallen asleep almost instantly because he couldn't remember hearing Dean shut things down for the night and go to bed. As always, Dean had left the light on in the bathroom. The door was ajar, just open enough for a thin, vertical strip of light to shine through and let them find their way around the strange room without bumping into things in the unknown landscape.

For as long as Sam could remember, Dean had done this; ostensibly so his younger brother could get to the bathroom without needing to wake him up, more probably to act as a nightlight when neither would admit to needing one.

He rolled onto his back and cleared his throat softly. Dean was a solid, still lump in the shadows, one arm resting on his stomach, one up near his ear.

Sam kicked off his covers and went into the bathroom. He pushed the door closed but not completely – there was still a beacon for Dean to find his way if he needed to.

He pissed under the fluorescent glare and leant over the sink; washed his hands, splashed cold water on his face, palmed some over his bangs, his neck. When he straightened, his own dripping reflection looking back at him in the mirror, Dean was there.

He had pushed the door open silently and was leaning against the jamb, idly scratching his stomach.

"You alright, Sammy?" he asked through his yawns.

"I'm fine," Sam replied, his hand fumbling for the scratchy hand towel he could see to the side.

Dean stepped in and pulled the towel off its rack, placing it in Sam's outstretched hand.

"You sure? You don't look so good."

Sam could see Dean's worried expression reflected in the rust-crusted mirror; the pursed lips and furrowed forehead he got when he thought Sam was hiding something from him. He could see his own face, pale and slack.

"I'm okay. Go back to sleep," Sam said, looking away, shaking out the towel and folding it with unnecessary care.

"Don't lie to – "

Sam pulled away from the hand Dean had placed on his forearm. "I said I'm fine!"

Dean took a step back and held up hands that faced outwards. "Dude, okay. No need to get bitchy."

"I'm okay," Sam whispered and looked again, looked _harder_. His brother was as he always had been; comfortable in his body, compact against Sam's own height, whipcord seams of muscles lying under skin scarred and freckled in patches. His face was the same; the same cockiness, the same 'Fuck you' half-smile, the same depth and interest in his eyes when he was looking at Sam, talking to Sam, making decisions for and ordering around and getting in the way of and helping Sam.

"I didn't know," Sam said.

He didn't give Dean a chance to speak, just stepped into his space, dropped his head down and captured his lips.

Dean's breath huffed out explosively, part surprise and part vocalization. Sam's eyes were scrunched tight as his hands moved to Dean's shoulders, pushing him more solidly into the doorframe, using the extra couple of inches he had to encourage Dean to tilt his head back, to stretch out his neck and make the firm bump of his Adam's apple more prominent. Sam rubbed a thumb gently over it.

"Sam!" Dean said, ripping his head away. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Shhh," Sam said, almost wetting himself with fear, the sour taste of adrenaline running into his mouth and masking the taste of their pizza breath. "Dean – "

"Sammy," Dean said, broken.

Sam lowered himself to his knees. Dean's cock was half-hard in the black briefs, pushing up towards his stomach, filling and lengthening right before Sam's eyes.

"Aw, fuck, Sam."

Sam nuzzled him again, lips soft and searching over the wispy pieces of cotton. He stuck out his tongue and licked from Dean's balls to his bellybutton; a flat, wide strip that caused Dean's hips to thrust forward then back and force his tailbone into wood.

Sam couldn't tell if the high, quick breaths he could hear were himself or Dean hyperventilating. He ignored that, ignored the feel of gritty tiles under his knees, ignored the fingers tightening in his hair, ignored the words Dean mumbled under his breath, ignored the voices in his head asking what the hell did he think he was doing, and tugged at the waist of Dean's underwear, pulling them down to his thighs.

Dean's cock flopped out rigid and fully erect, a solid handful reaching up to his belly. Sam wrapped a hand around the base and directed it down, took a cursory look at it and put the tip in his mouth.

He'd never done this before but he'd been given enough to understand the principles. Cover your teeth. Keep things wet. Stroke. Suck hard but not too hard. Tongue the head. Get as much as you could in your mouth but keep up the suction. Move up and down. Fondle the balls.

"Sam. Sammy," Dean groaned above him, hands moving down to clench his shoulders.

Sam ignored the thumbs digging into his collarbone, and concentrated on the shape and feel of his brother's cock moving over his lips, concentrated on the speed at which his head bobbed. He went down too deep and gagged, eyes watering. He pulled back and focussed on the head, mouth round and too slack to get a proper lock. There was not enough suction, not enough friction and he could feel himself started to drool.

"Sam!" Dean said, pushing him off.

Sam fell back onto his heels and rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing," he said, voice higher than normal, frantic when it should be mellow. "I don't know how to – "

"Shhh, it's alright. It's okay, Sammy."

Sam could feel his mouth sloppy with saliva and precome; lips glistening with their combined fluids. Dean crouched down and rubbed his thumb gently over Sam's bottom lip, smearing the shine, staring into his eyes intently as Sam took deep, gulping breaths.

Something must have shown in his face because Dean pulled him up by the elbows and propped him up against the wall; kissed him leisurely, tenderly, bought him back down. Sam's knees went weak and he felt Dean pressed hot and hard against his thigh.

"Dean, I want to – "

"I said it's alright. Trust me."

And Sam did, just as much as he always had.

Dean led him into the bedroom and kicked off his briefs, pulled Sam's shorts off and left them piled in a heap on the floor. He guided Sam onto his back and got on top, lowered his body down in slow increments until they were pressed skin on skin from neck to ankles.

They kissed again. Dean was still moving slow, still being gentle. Sam couldn't tell if either of them were really there.

He opened his mouth wider and captured Dean's tongue, grunting as he sucked it. Dean groaned and thrust against his groin. Sam shivered – he could feel Dean, he could feel him right there and right now and it was everything he never knew he'd thought about.

His hands moved without conscious thought, skimmed over the flexing muscles of Dean's shoulder blades, curling down and around until they were wrapped around Dean's ass; big, solid handfuls of muscle and skin that filled his palms.

"Sammy," Dean said, licking down his neck, sucking kisses down his chest. Dean grabbed one of his thighs and pulled his leg up and onto Dean's lower back, leaving Sam open and exposed to the air and Dean's fingers, which trailed down and scratched with blunt nails until they hit the part of Sam's body where thigh met ass.

Sam convulsed in his arms. "Fuck. Dean."

"Gonna take care of you," Dean said, sliding down the bed, hoisting Sam's leg higher. When his mouth finally wrapped itself around Sam's cock, Sam keened. His arms fell to the bed, eyes rolling back in his head. Dean's mouth was warm, wet bliss; sweet perfection that didn't let up.

Sam forced his eyes open and his head up. He knew he was big; plenty of girlfriends had commented approvingly on his length and girth, but Dean sucked him down like he was up for the challenge. He made small, pleased noises as he lifted off and nosed around Sam's balls, sniffing and licking and mouthing them enthusiastically.

Dean looked up, saw he had Sam's attention, then lowered his mouth back onto Sam's cock, persistently moving down, gaining depth inch by inch, throat opening up gradually as things became slicker.

"Oh, god. Oh, fuck," Sam said, falling back onto the pillows. He put a hand on the back of Dean's head and cradled the smooth, spiky curve of his skull until he came.

He didn't pass out. He knew because he could hear the shuffling sounds of Dean thrusting into the sheets.

"C'mere," he slurred, tugging on Dean's shoulder.

Dean was bright-eyed and biting his lip as he lowered himself onto Sam's lethargic body. "You okay?"

Sam chuckled; of course he was okay, why wouldn't he be? He pulled Dean's head down and kissed him deep and slow, elation coursing through his capillaries. He felt good down to his _toes_. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said. His hips moved involuntarily. "Shit. Sam – "

"I want you to show me everything," Sam whispered against his lips. "I want to do everything with you. Show me what to do, Dean. I want – "

"Fuck, okay, I get it," Dean groaned, grimacing.

Sam grabbed his head and held him fast. "I mean it," Sam said and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "Just you."

Dean's eyes were liquid. "Okay, Sammy. Okay."

Their bodies fit together well; torsos wrapped around each other, bones and muscles becoming places to hold and tug and position. Dean got Sam to turn onto his stomach and lowered himself onto his back, the shallow bowl of his pelvic bone balanced directly below Sam's ass.

"Yeah," Sam breathed, spreading his legs.

"Not now. Not yet."

Dean parted the cheeks of his ass and thrust his cock into the space, a high-pitched noise leaving his throat when Sam tightened his thighs.

He started to thrust; small, easy movements more about what was going to happen in the future than what was happening at that second. Sam sighed and stretched his hands above his head, relaxing into the motion. Dean's hands landed on his; their fingers twined and clenched as Dean's movements became more precise, each thrust rubbing his dripping cock over Sam's hole and perineum.

"God, I want you to do it," Sam moaned into the sheets.

"I'm gonna," Dean said, his mouth moving over Sam's taut neck. "We will, soon, I promise. Gonna teach you, Sammy. Gonna show you everything I know."

Sam's breath hitched and he curved his spine, pushed his ass up and out, wanting more of that dry friction over a place he'd never been touched before, trusting Dean to do the right thing, to give him a taste, to give them both a taste of what was to come.

"Wanna fuck you, Sammy," Dean moaned in his ear, voice thick with lust. "Wanna feel how you move when I'm inside you. Wanna know you inside out."

Dean's fingers tightened on his painfully as he came, spurting thick and hot along his crack. Sam whimpered. He was so close; he was thrusting into sheets that were too slippery for what he needed.

Dean's hand squirmed under his hip and cupped his cock. "Rub off on me. Come on."

Sam grunted and came, feeling slick stickiness drip over his stomach and between Dean's fingers.

The sweat on his neck had made his hair curl, and he could feel the skin on his neck goosepimpling with every pant of Dean's breath.

"God. Shit," Dean said, and rolled off.

Sam swallowed. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen. He sighed and opened his eyes, rolling back onto his hip until he was facing Dean.

Dean lay on his back, an arm thrown over his eyes. His throat and chest were flushed red and glistening with sweat.

Sam waited for him to move, to say something. Outside, dawn was starting to break.

Almost as if it didn't belong to him, Sam watched his hand move carefully over the bed, edging closer to Dean's body. Gently, he placed the palm of his hand on Dean's sternum.

Dean exhaled.

"Dean?"

Dean grunted.

Sam leant over and tugged on Dean's arm. Dean lifted it away from his face warily.

"Did you mean it?"

Dean looked up at the ceiling and sighed. His hand fell back and landed on Sam's shoulder, then moved up his neck to cup his face.

"When have I ever lied to you, Sammy?" he asked.

Sam smiled, bright and pleased. "Oh, you've lied to me, but never about anything important."

"Shut up," Dean said, tugging him down and arranging Sam's body against his own to his satisfaction. Sam pressed his face against Dean's neck, kissed patches of skin with the satisfaction of possession. Dean's arms tightened around him.

"You know all those things you said you want to do to me?" Sam asked.

Dean grunted again.

"I want to do them to you, too."

Dean smiled, already half-asleep. "That's what I'm counting on, Sammy."


End file.
